


Fifteen Minutes With You

by someonestolemyshoes



Series: No, It's Not Like Any Other Love [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, Smut, a li'l bit of angst but not really, levihan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Needs are needs, Levi reasons, so it isn’t at all strange or abnormal or anything other than healthy, really, that night after night, when the lights are out and the silence presses in, his hand finds itself creeping beneath the waistband of his boxers.</p>
<p>What is a little weird, a little unnerving, a little maybe not okay, is that with wandering hands come wandering thoughts, and those wandering thoughts are, invariably, of Hange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen Minutes With You

**Author's Note:**

> I can only apologise

Needs are needs, Levi reasons, so it isn’t at all strange or abnormal or anything other than healthy, really, that night after night, when the lights are out and the silence presses in, his hand finds itself creeping beneath the waistband of his boxers.

What is a little weird, a little unnerving, a little maybe not okay, is that with wandering hands come wandering thoughts, and those wandering thoughts are, invariably, of Hange.

* * *

 

He doesn’t think much of it, to begin with. She’s a fleeting thought, messy hair and a throaty laugh and she doesn’t stay there long. His hand goes still and his eyes pop open and yeah, it’s kind of strange, but she’s  _Hange_  and he spends every damn day with her so it’s not all  _that_  fucked up that she’s tip-toeing her way into this aspect of his life, too. He thinks of the magazines he’d found pinned beneath Erwin’s mattress, and then he thinks of Erwin, which is even weirder and doesn’t do all that much to help him, and then he thinks of faceless girls, of warm, glossed lips and hollowed cheeks and a hand softer than his own wrapped around him and that about does it.

(He tries to ignore it, the smug voice in the back of his head that whispers  _Hange_   _wears lip gloss just like that_.)

It becomes a regular occurrence after that - Hange’s little trips into his head. He tries to block them out because _god_ , can he really look her in the eye after he’s come with her name on his tongue? She’ll  _know_ , of course she’ll know, and she’ll hate him, he’s sure of it. If she knew about the things she’s done behind his closed lids…

But Levi lets it happen because, he reasons, it really does no harm, thinking about her. Hange’s smart but she’s not a mind reader and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and…and he likes it. He likes the way her name sounds when he breathes it into his fist, likes the picture of her, on her knees or straddling his hips or peering over her shoulder, and he  _definitely_  likes the sound of her voice, the way she says his name, coy and sweet and breathless and yeah, he  _loves_  it.

And she never has to know.

Levi does find, though, that it gets a little harder to look at her as times goes by. It’s hard, because she smiles and laughs and bites her lip and every move and expression gives him something else to think about when he’s writhing in his own sheets. It’s hard, because she slips into lectures with last night’s make-up bruising her eyes and marks on her neck that someone else left while he was getting off to the picture of her lips wrapped around his dick.  

He’s not jealous, really, just…he feels kind of sick when he sees her like that. His stomach ties itself in knots and he chokes and she’s  _oblivious,_  and the worst part is that he has no right to care.

It’s hard to listen to her talk, because to concentrate he has to look at her and when he looks at her he sees the sticky gloss painting her lips pink, and he starts to hate –  _really_  hate - that he can’t look his best friend in the face because somewhere down the line, she’s become intrinsically linked with his ability to get himself off.

He hates that it’s becoming a problem.

The worst moment, the first time he realises just how awful his habit has become, is the third time he sees her cry. He hates that she’s burrowed into his sheets and she’s sobbing, face pressed into his pillow and her phone still clenched in her fist. He hates that she curls into him when he sits beside her, that she sobs her reasons into his thigh while her nails dig into the fabric of his trousers; hates that she calms when he pulls the tie from her pony tail and cards his fingers through her hair. He can’t stand the way she wipes her nose on her sleeve and sits up beside him, the way she kisses his cheek and says, voice small and quiet and very un-Hange, “Thanks…you know, for being there.” He detests the laughter that bubbles from her throat when he replies, snide and snarky, that it’s his flat, of  _course_  he’s there, and he hates that something clenches low in his stomach when she lies back down and rubs her cheek across his pillow, right where he bites the fabric and hisses her name when he comes in his own hand.

He hates that she still trusts him.

He hates it and yet, with increasing frequency, he finds himself curled up in bed, palming himself through his boxers and letting her face slip into the forefront of his mind.

* * *

They’re tipsy when he tells her, lying on his bed with her head in his lap and drinks in their hands, and she looks up at him with wide, curious eyes and says, “What’re you staring at?”

“I think about you, sometimes,” he says, absently combing his fingers through her ponytail.

“I think about you sometimes, too,” she says, “that’s what friends do.”

He’s blushing before he realises the communication error and he almost decides against elaborating, but she’s Hange and she knows him all too well and he winces when she pokes at his stomach with one long finger.

“Spit it out.” She prods again and Levi swigs from his bottle. Hange does the same, opens her lips and tips a measure straight down her throat.  

“When I jerk off, I mean.”

Hange chokes and shoots upright with her hand cupped over her face to catch the wine dribbling out her nose and for a minute neither of them say anything, just wait out the coughing and spluttering and Levi gives her a few half-hearted back-slaps until she settles.

“Don’t say shit like that when I’m  _drinking_.” She cuffs the side of his head, then grins and wipes her face with the back of her hand. “You serious, though?”

“Why lie?”

Hands nods once, mumbles, “That’s fair,” and takes a more cautious mouthful from her bottle. Levi watches her from the corner of his eye; her cheeks are a little red and it’s maybe from the alcohol, but it’s more than likely because of the dirty little secret he just spilled, and her eyes are light and thoughtful, and then she shoves her bottle onto the bedside table and twists, legs crossed, to face him.  

“Do you want to?”

Levi’s brows pull to his hairline and he stares because  _no fucking way_ , she’s not suggesting what he thinks she is, right? Right.

“Want to what?”

“Have sex. That’s what you’ve been thinking about, right?”

Levi tries his hardest  _not_  to look flustered and instead he takes a deep mouthful of his drink. She’s not wrong, and he hates that. He blinks over at her, then lowers the bottle and pulls the corner of his mouth up in an easy smirk.

“Why, four-eyes, you offering?”

* * *

Kissing Hange is nice. Her lips are kind of dry, a little cracked, but her tongue is warm and wet when it runs over his lip and presses between his teeth. He doesn’t do a lot of kissing – Levi isn’t into one-night-stands and he hasn’t had a girlfriend in too long so he’s kind of rusty, maybe a little sloppy but Hange makes up where he’s lacking. Her lips feel good, and her tongue feels good where it rubs against his and the nails scraping the nape of his neck feel amazing and before he can check it, a moan slithers up his throat and out into her mouth. She pulls away, nips and kisses her way over his jaw and down his neck. He hisses when her teeth sink into his shoulder and Hange sits back with a shit-eating grin, tugging the hem of her shirt up and over her head.

“You don’t waste time.” Levi mutters the words against the skin of her neck and her laugh vibrates against his lips. Her reply dies in her throat when Levi slides the straps of her bra down her shoulders and tugs the cups out the way, teasing one nipples between his fingers and looping his tongue over the other. Her soft, breathy  _oh_  makes his hips jump and he wraps one arm around her back to pull her tighter against him. He knows his fingers are leaving marks down her spine and he peaks up to see if she’s okay, if his mouth and his hands are okay where they are and it’s cliché, but he really does forget, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Why’d you stop?” Hange’s panting and her lips are red and kiss-swollen, and there’s a pink flush over her cheeks and it’s ridiculous, it’s stupid, but it’s the first time Levi has really thought of her as beautiful. It’s hard to say it even though he wants to and instead he cranes his neck and kisses her once, hard, and wedges a hand between them to palm her through her shorts.

There’s a lot of talking, murmurs and whispers and low chuckles but Hange doesn’t say a thing when he asks her what she likes, just shimmies out of her shorts and underwear and spreads her legs to show him. She’s practiced, aware of her own body and Levi stares, wide eyed, and leans down to smooth his lips over the inside of her knee as she works herself. She moans, low and throaty and crooks her fingers, arcs her back up off the mattress. She’s stifling sounds with her teeth clamped over her bottom lip, cheeks cherry red and eyes squeezed closed and  _god_ , Levi thinks, smoothing his tongue over the backs of his teeth, she looks better than he’d ever imagined.

And he’s imagined a  _lot_.

“Something like that,” she says, slinking back against the pillows and humming, content. Levi strokes the tips of his fingers against her hip. He wants to say something nice, sweet or appropriately dirty but the more he thinks the more his mind goes numb; all he can concentrate on is the feel of her skin and the fact that she’s lying there, supine against  _his_  mattress and she’s looking at him and  _fuck_ , this is really happening. This is…

“You look constipated when you come.”

Levi cringes, flinches because he definitely didn’t mean that, he’s just terrible with words and he’s never been more thankful that Hange knows that because she laughs deep in her throat and pushes up on her elbows to kiss him again.

“I mean, I’ve had nicer compliments, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Levi pinches her waist and breathes out against her mouth. He can feel her fingers fumbling at his hips, nails scratching along the skin and then she’s tugging on his belt buckle until it slides loose, and she pushes at his shoulders until he’s flat on his back on the mattress and his pants are pulled down to his knees.

Her hands are rougher than he’d imagined, palms a little calloused and he isn’t surprised, really, that it feels just as good as he’d thought it would. Her fingers are slick from herself and she gives a small, experimental tug and it’s good,  _so good_ , has him hissing through his teeth and Hange’s laughing, breath bleeding out over the skin of his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, lips dry and tacked together and he chokes on a noise that’s _maybe_  a moan or maybe a whimper when Hange’s mouth ghosts over his head. He slips his fingers into her ponytail, fists the strands and whispers another, “ _fuck_ ,” when her tongue slides the length of him.

“Good fuck or bad fuck?” Hange’s grinning, the smug kind of smile she does when she asks stupid fucking questions and Levi glares as best he can with her fingers still wrapped around him. She doesn’t give him time to reply, just blunts her teeth with her lips and takes him in.

In his dreams she’s a freak, slips him all the way ‘till her nose digs into his stomach and the term  _gag reflex_  isn’t even in her vocabulary but this Hange, she’s more cautious; he slides over her tongue and stops short of her throat and she makes up the excess with her fist. It takes some monumental effort to pin his hips to the mattress when she hollows her cheeks around him, tongue smoothing up the underside of his cock and  _god_  this is Hange, this is  _Hange_ , naked in his tiny student flat with her mouth on his dick, one hand around the base and the other back between her own thighs.

He tugs on her ponytail when he’s close and Hange lifts herself up with an audible  _pop_ , looks up at him with red cheeks and pink, spit-wet lips and he groans, coaxes her up the mattress with the hand in her hair and when she’s close enough, Levi licks at the pout of her bottom lip.

“Gross, you have drool on your chin,” he says, and Hange slips her tongue out against the seam of his mouth.

“I just had your dick in my mouth but  _saliva_  is what’s bothering you?”

Levi pulls her hair and hums, trails the backs of his fingers up the outside of her thigh and Hange grins wide and lifts her hips back, away from the bed.

“Give and take, shorty.” Her voice is tight, strained, and she rolls her hips into his searching fingers, and maybe it’s the arc of her back, or the flush growing up her neck, or the shiny, blown-out look of her eyes but  _something_ makes his throat close up and for a minute it’s impossible to do anything other than stare.

“What?” He asks, because she’d said words and he can’t remember what they are. Hange shakes her head like it didn’t matter anyway and nips her teeth against his shoulder to stifle whatever noise she doesn’t want him to hear. He circles his fingers over her, slow and deliberate and building pace and she adjusts him a few times here and there, redirects his touch to where it hits her best until she keens, knocks her forehead against his jaw and shudders out a few harsh breaths.

“Nice try.” Hange pants, then flops onto her back against the pillows and splays her legs. Her fingers card up into the hair at the back of his head and he follows her lead, rolls to his stomach and leans close enough to kiss her again but she shakes her head and pushes him down, past her chest and over her stomach until his face is settled between her thighs. “You’re not done.”

**

“Didn’t picture you,” Levi says as he trails his way back up her sternum, “as the demanding type.”

“Is it a problem?”

Levi hums, shakes his head. He likes that she’s breathless, that her hair is sweat-stuck to her forehead and he thinks, with his elbows braced either side of her and his cock straining against her stomach, that he’d do any damn thing she’d ask him to.

“We can take a break,” he says, tucking one arm under her neck and peppering kisses along her jaw. Levi smooths his tongue across a welt over her pulse and she turns her head, chin knocking his temple.

“Is that okay?” She tips her hips against him and he bucks back, because he really is barely holding it together, but nods.

“You want a drink?”

“I’m alright.”

Levi lays on his side next to her and props his head up on his chin, fingers stroking damp tendrils of hair away from her collar, where they’ve wound their way against her neck. Hange stretches out, body long and taut and lithe and Levi looks resolutely at the opposite wall and wills himself to stay still.

It’s only when she’s caught her breath that Hange rolls to face him, curls an arm around his back and bite across his collarbone.

“Condom?” She asks, and for a moment he blanches. Hange cranes her neck to kiss the underside of his jaw and her fingertips dance across his groin, and Levi shakes himself out of his head to reach for the drawer in his bedside table.

It’s not that he’s never had sex, it’s that he hasn’t had sex in a long time and he’s never had sex with someone as important as Hange which, thinking on it, is an odd statement, because every past bed partner has been a girlfriend and Hange’s just…just  _Hange_ , his best friend and confidant and maybe the person he cares about most and really, it’s a smack in the face to realise this  _now_. Now, when there are two half-empty wine bottles on the bedside table and he can still taste her on his tongue and he’s hard in his own hand and she’s waiting for him.

He fumbles, tears the condom along with the packet on his first attempt and drops the second on the floor, and he’s taking a third packet out the drawer when Hange’s fingers close around his fist.

“We don’t have to, you know,” she says, and he feels her chest press up against his back and her breath ghosts over his ear. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

The problem, Levi thinks, is that he  _does_  want to. He thinks about the way one of her hands is holding his, thinks about the curve of the other against his waist, the weight of her chin on his shoulder and the way her hair is tickling his neck, the press of her against his shoulder blades and the pressure of her knees at his hips and  _god_ does he want to.

Levi turns his head, pecks her cheek, knocks his forehead to her temple where it stays, and lets his eyes slide shut. He’s never been good with words, but Hange has been able to read him since day one and all he can do is pray that she understands what he’s trying to tell her now.

“Oh,” is all she says, and Levi turns his head and drops his gaze to their hands, hair hanging low over his eyes and heat in his cheeks and Hange’s warmth is slipping away, cool air nipping at his spine where she’d been.

Her fingers fish the foil from his fist and Levi watches as she rips the corner and rolls the latex on him. He hisses as she curls her fingers around him and slides the rim lower, and then she looks up at him and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t realise that’s what you meant,” she says, nudging his shoulders until he lays back.

“Neither did I.”

Hange hums, straddles his hips and smooths her palms over his chest. She hasn’t left, which, Levi thinks, is definitely a good sign, and he grips her waist and rolls them until he’s hovering over her. Hange grins, smooths her leg up along his and hooks her knee over his hip.

“You ready?” He asks, and Hange slips a hand between them to palm over herself. Levi can feel her knuckles brushing the underside of his cock and he groans, drops his forehead to her shoulder and rocks his hips. Hange’s jaw brushes his ear when she nods and she closes her fist around him, tugging twice and grinning when he chokes, teeth scraping along her skin. She lifts her hips, nudges him with her knees to get him in place, and she’s hot and wet and he squeezes his eyes and purses his lips and turns to hide his face in her hair as he slides in.

Hange sucks in a small breath and shudders it out, head arcing back into the pillow. Levi stills, sucks in a couple of breaths and waits, and after a minute she tightens her legs around his back and whispers, “Move,” into his ear.

It’s good, for the most part. A little…fumbly, in places, and holding a rhythm is harder than Levi remembers, but it’s good. Better than good, and as they lie panting on the bed Levi can only think about her giggles, the way she’d squirmed when he’d slid his fingertips over her ribs, the snorting laughter and the smiles and the feel of her fingers in his hair, the nip of her teeth along his jaw, her pink cheeks and kiss-red lips and he rubs the back of his hand over his mouth to hide a smile.

Hange curls into his side and rests her cheek against his shoulder, breath fanning out over his chest. He smooths his palm down her spine and nudges his lips against her forehead.

“Gotta clean up,” she mumbles, pushing herself upright and stretching her back. He’s a little surprised when she pecks his mouth before hopping over him and jogging her way into the bathroom and when the door closes, he stares up at the ceiling and grins.

Levi wipes himself down and pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and while Hange sorts herself, he changes the sheets, slips out into the kitchen and grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge, sets them down alongside the wine and sits back on the bed.

Hange comes back in smiling, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and smoothing one hand over her stomach.

“No UTI’s for me,” she says, offers a thumbs up, and Levi scowls.

“Disgusting.”

She knocks her head back and laughs, then bounces up onto the bed beside him. Levi tosses her his shirt, which she tugs on, then drops onto her stomach and reaches for a water bottle. Levi watches her drain half of it, watches her tongue peek out to wipe her lips, and pushes himself closer and nudges his nose along hers. He chokes on the question in his throat, shuts his eyes tight and tries again, but his tongue is too heavy between his teeth. Hange finds his hand where it rests on the mattress and threads her fingers through his, and Levi clears his throat.

“Can I kiss you again?” He hates it, hates how desperate it sounds, but when he blinks open an eye and pulls back far enough to look at her, Hange is  _beaming_. She nods, heavy and enthusiastic, and they’re both too eager, catching lips and tongues between their teeth, and it’s messy because they’re smiling, but Levi thinks it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

“So,” Hange says when she pulls away, bracing her chin on her palms and swinging her legs behind her. Levi watches the hem of his shirt ride up her thighs and over her backside and the corner of his mouth twitches, eyes tracing the tan skin as it slips into view. “Round two?”  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna crawl back in my fuckin' hole tbh 
> 
> (thank you for reading, and for any comments/kudos etc)


End file.
